


The Ones You Save in the Process

by pretive



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depression, Depressive Actions, Depressive Thoughts, Destiel - Freeform, Hunter's Burial, Implied/Referenced Suicide, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mentions of Violence, Nightmares, Not a relationship fic, Overdose, Sam finds him, Suicidal Dean, Suicidal Dean Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Notes, mentions of character deaths, suicide note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 11:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13363842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretive/pseuds/pretive
Summary: Live a full life and save as many people as you can save. I’ve learned that getting so caught up in revenge was Dad’s downfall, and I thought that would be yours for a while. This life shouldn’t be about the things you’re fighting, but the people you save in the process.-Suicide Fic.





	The Ones You Save in the Process

It’s been too long, too many prolonged deaths. Too many ends, too many beginnings. 

_Too much damn blood on his hands._

He can hear keys clicking from the other room, the quiet hum of the lights. Lights that are are just a little too bright for tired eyes.

“Dean- damn it- Dean!” Dean violently pulls himself out of the chair he’d been strung over, and makes sure there dagger was still in his back pocket.

There’s no sound of struggle, no sound of hits or punches. 

“Dean, come here a minute.” Dean turns the corner and scans the room, heart slow and nervously calm. Nothing was wrong, not this time at least.

He lets his guard down just enough to relax. “Yeah, Sammy?” Sam was hunched over a black computer screen, fist clenched against the table.

“I’m just tracking patterns, and I got an email, but it shut down the system and went black. I’ve done about everything I can do and I can’t get it back on.” Too many nerves for one person.

Dean gently turns the laptop over and pulls out the dagger from his pocket to unscrew the bottom. He looks over wires, and rewires a few, then shuts it back up. Simple email override, nothing to troubling. 

“Try it now.” Dean grumbles. Sam tries it, and sure enough, the screen is back to normal. Sam looks at him incredulously. “Delete that email. What are you looking at me for?” 

Sam shakes his head. “You don’t fail to surprise me. You got any cases for me? I’m running a blank.” No kidding. 

Dean shrugs. “Don’t have many friends in this field to tell us about em’. And since Bobby- since Bobby. I’ll go make some calls.” Sam tries to object but Dean is already out the door and down the hall. 

Too much blood, to many flatliners. Too many mistakes that have cost other people’s lives. Sam wouldn’t need him much longer before he was able to do these jobs alone, without the added stress of Dean. These little tech issues were easy fixes, and it was few and far between that Sam couldn’t do or fix something that Dean could.

Too many thoughts.

There is no flutter of wings, sounds of wheels on the floor, no Harry Potter marathons. There is no sound other than Sam, who works in solitary. He doesn’t have the motivation to put on music to fill the silence.

Dean calls every hunter in his log, looking for jobs. Nothing. For once the world around him was peaceful, and he was anything but. 

“Sammy!” Dean calls, pulling the weapon from his pocket.

“What?”

“When was the last time I did a tool check?” He yells and looks at the dull blade of his dagger. 

His answered comes a few moments later. “About a month ago.” 

Perfect.

-

The water is burning hot against his skin and the steady beat of the droplets on his back do nothing to remove the numb feeling settling in his head. It was in these times that he used to feel comforted, not alone in the shower.

His eyes close and he rests his head against the shower wall in exhaustion. Everything hurt.

There were aches in his shoulders and down his spine, and he let the water soothe it to the best of its ability. He had become more and more tense with every fight. 

His head hurts, from lack of sleep and overactive thoughts. 

There’s a rubbing in his shoulder and a pressure against his hip. It’s relaxing, just as if-

“Cas? Cas!” Dean turns around quickly to see no one. His eyes are wide and his breath nonexistent. There is no angel rubbing the tension out of his muscles and humming hymnals in his ear as he fell asleep. He’s alone again. 

The shower can hide the tears, the ache, but it can’t hide the cries resonating through the bunker, hitting the door of Sam’s room, and circling through his brother’s mind. Sam ignores it, knowing Dean wouldn’t want to be confronted about it. 

Cas was gone.

-

Sam left early the next morning to take care of business, and left a note to explain and reassure he would be home the next night.

The bunker was too silent, but inside his head he could imagine the buzz it used to make him feel. He had found a home for the first time in his entire life, and now it gave him nothing more than uncomfortable silence.

He can drink the day away, sharpen knives down to their hilt, clean gums until his reflection shined, but he couldn’t get rid of the spreading numb feeling. The numbness collapsed the memories of red hair bouncing through the door with groceries, the familiar flap of wings, the loud foot fall of his brother. 

It took away the few and far between moments when he had been in bliss for long enough to spark hope in a dying heart.

He felt the same he had since Sammy left for college- empty. And tenfold at that. 

He was a meticulous and skilful soldier, but he was worth nothing more than the void credit cards in his wallet. 

-

The barrels stare back at him.

Safety off, he tries to relax as he lays in bed. This was the first time he can remember Sam leaving him alone in a few months, and to say he was relieved was an understatement.

But the nerves are killing him.

_What if it goes off and doesn’t kill me? What if it does go off and Sam needs me?_

He turns the safety back on and pushes the pistol under his pillow.

-

Dean can remember the first time Sam died, and can recall each and every other single time between then and now. Dean has met his own share of reapers who must have a bet on his final chance. He’s got so many prices above his head he could turn himself in and pay off all of his life debts, and Sammy’s too.

But that’s all he was; a price. A prize even. The Dean Winchester, notorious hunter, the Righteous Man, the living dead. 

But even when he died, he’d be nothing more than a mere whisper among hunters. Nothing more than a fucked up man with an exceedingly impressive ‘resume’.

He wonders if he’ll be a bad taste in someone’s mouth when they hear his name, just like his father. 

But none of that matters when you know you’re gonna die. It’s kill or be killed in this world, or do both and hope for an after that’s better than the life you live now.

His nightmares haunt him, and he sees all of these things more times than he’d think necessary.

 

-

 

_“Tell her to bring me back, if she can. If not-“ he takes a breath, “No hard feelings, okay?”_

He had taken those pills much too willingly. He had done it time and time again, and he’d do it over a hundred more if he had to. 

He knew exactly what to take, exactly what he was going to say. If he had to, he’d give the reaper his hand and walk away. Hell, he wanted to walk away. But he needed to know they’d follow up on their word if he could convince them that Sammy’s life was worth it.

A gun wound would leave to much for the eye to see. He knew Sam had seen shitty things throughout his life, but even Dean couldn’t imagine walking in on the sight. 

Sam knew how to patch up a stab wound, he knew how to revive him if he stopped his heart. The pills would put him out quick enough and without any external damage to scar his brother any more than this would.

One.

-

_Hey Sammy,_

“Dean, I’m back! I brought us some burgers and a pie!” Sam yells throughout the bunker. It’s eerily silent, not even a thump of Dean’s music ringing in the air. 

_You’re going to hate me for this._

Sam looks through doorways until he reaches his room. He must have caught a few extra hours while Sam was away.

_I hate myself too, and I hate not being able to have given you the life you were meant to have._

“Dean, get up, we’ve got food to eat.” Sam knocks. He sighs when there’s no answer. “Dean-“

_God, Sammy. You’ve grown up. Even in the time since we started being brothers again, you’ve grown up. You grew into someone so much better than me, and for that I am grateful._

Sam can’t breathe. “Dean, are- shit, Dean!” His brother was just laying there, mouth foaming slightly. Like he was sleeping restfully for once. With his arms at his sides, paper in his hand.

_You’re never going to know just how much of this life I’ve had to see. I’ve made sure of that. And I know you’re going to want to make a deal quicker than your head can spin, but god damn it Sammy, don’t._

He can only make him gag a few times before he becomes completely unresponsive to anything. 

He’s cold in the back seat of the Impala, and it roared as it flew down roads to the nearest hospital. 

Tears cloud his eyes and he’s freezing cold, but he doesn’t move his hands off of the wheel or his foot off of the gas. 

_Live a full life and save as many people as you can save. I’ve learned that getting so caught up in revenge was Dad’s downfall, and I thought that would be yours for a while. This life shouldn’t be about the things you’re fighting, but the people you save in the process._

Nurses rush to his aid and take the weight off of his shoulders. He’s shouting information, following until he can’t anymore, and collapsing. He can’t lose him like this.

_I want you to know, there’s no saving me. I was fighting my fight and trying to save myself, and I just wasn’t strong enough. You’re different though, Sam. You’ve got the hope of Mom and determination of Dad, Bobby’s love, the ability to love like no other, and you have that big old Stanford brain of yours, Sammy. Everything I’m not that I should have been for you. But I’ll tell you one damn thing, I wouldn’t change anything if it meant you ended up happy._

It seemed like chills were permanently running down his spine while he waited. Sam felt sicker and sicker with each passing second. He feels like he should call somebody, let them know what was going on.

Who the hell was he supposed to call?

_Sam, you don’t realise just how much you have to live for. You’ve got a life so far ahead of you, now that all of the shit has been cleared from your table. My bed has been made, and it’s time for me to lay in it. For good._

A coma. A threat if he ever heard one. Dean was just barely alive, just enough that they could pump and filter the things from his body, but not enough to heal his organs from the damage. 

“Gabe, Lucifer, Balthazar, Michael, Cas if you’re there. I know one of you has to be watching down on Dean, at least I hope you are after everything he’s done for Heaven, Hell, all of you. Just, if you can’t save him, don’t send him back if you can help it.” Sam prays. He prays and prays and hopes, and he prays to God and wishes he had sooner.

_I was a perfect soldier, and I’ll die a dishonourable death. I just can’t do this anymore Sam. I’m outta lives to bring you back, out of favours, out of hope. I cleared your debt, and I hope you will forgive mine._

“Chuck? I’m so glad to talk to you- you know, don’t you?” Sam murmurs, heart pounding.

There’s a shaky breath. “I do. A coma, huh?” 

The words get caught in Sam’s throat. “Yeah. What’s gonna happen, Chuck?” His eyes burn, and his heart breaks at the sound of silence.

“I know what’s going to happen, I know what did happen, and I know what his intentions are. He’s going to die honourably. He- He’s going, but cleaned up the messes he made first. I’ve got some more calls to make.” Sam chokes out a goodbye and returns to the bedside. 

_Sammy, if you could do me one favour, don’t let yourself end up like me. I can’t wait to see you again, if we do meet again later on, but I don’t want that to be for a really long time. I love you._

_Go and live Sam, for me._

_I love you Sammy,_

_Dean Winchester_

A favour called in desolate tones insured Sam would give Dean a hunter’s burial.

The long roads lead back to a familiar cabin, and to Sam’s disbelief, hundreds of faces. Hunters, people, old friends, people they had saved.

Chuck came forward. “I made a few calls Sam. Your brother meant more to these people than he could ever imagine.” Sam looks around at all of the faces, some familiar, some not.

There were people he remembered going on hunts with, ones he remembered saving, some he didn’t know at all. Men in army green, children and teens with their mothers and fathers. 

Mothers shielded the kids eyes as they lit his body on fire, people covered their ears as shots rang out. There are people holding him up as he collapses, and for a moment he thinks he can see Dean, an entire veil pulled aside. Bobby, Charlie, Jo, Ellen, Mom, Dad. The sky was full of angels, Cas in the front, and the woods around them full of hells highest powers, bowing their heads to his brother.

Dean Winchester. 

The taste wasn’t a sickening one when someone said his name, but a sweet one. There were thousands of stories, hundreds of hunters with his name written on their lives. 

For years to come, his use of his Dad’s journal, and his contributions to it would save more lives than he could have dreamed. 

He had an honourable death, a hunter’s burial, and he would forever leave his mark on the world. 

 

_Live a full life and save as many people as you can save._


End file.
